by Ace Gray
God, did I just write that? Something dirty? You bring out something new in me. Maybe a little brave.
Almost brave enough to say I am enough.
What would my words mean to you? Would you believe them even if they were wrapped up in the shiny bows I tend to put on them? Would you see them as the gift that I do?
Because your words are a gift.
Maybe mine will be a gift to you.
Maybe they’ll be a gift for me too.
“You are going to drive me insane.” Courtney slams her hand down overtop of mine where it’s been jittery against the table.
“It’s been good. Like stupid good.” I sigh as I pull my hand from the table and shove it beneath my thigh. “So of course, Jenna’s coming today.”
“Okay, what does stupid good mean? Trips to Rome? Watching RomCom marathons? Braiding each other’s hair?”
“No that’s just stupid.” I chuckle.
“Well it got you to laugh.”
“True.” I smile wide. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Now tell me what stupid good means.”
“That we cook dinner, read books quietly on the couch, have great sex, and best of all, no one freaks out.”
“No one freaked out?” Her eyebrows almost climb off her forehead. “And no one died?”
“That could all change with you.” I shoot her the most sickly sweet smile I can manage.
“Or Jenna.” Her smile matches mine.
“Or Jenna.” I deflate completely as I say it.
“What does he say?” she asks softly.
“That it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“And here we are having the argument I decided to stop having with James.” I throw my hands up then sigh. “I think—and I’m just guessing here… Well and assuming he means it when he says I shouldn’t worry—but I think that, hope that, it’s for some closure.”
“And if it’s not?” Courtney asks.
To that question, I have no answer.
“So…” James drags out the word long enough that I know I need to put down my laptop and look at him. He perches on the coffee table in front of me and leans onto his forearms, his hands reach for my knee. “I’m not exactly sure how to play this tonight.”
“Play what?”
“Meeting Jenna.” He can’t meet my eyes when he says her name. “I mean, should I come to your place so you can see, or should I stay far away so you don’t have to? I honestly have no idea what the etiquette is here.”
“I’m pretty sure Emily Post didn’t write this one down.” I muster a halfhearted smile. His fingers trace the contours of my knee, his eyes focused on his movements. He traces shapes, over and over again until I realize that it’s a heart. I clasp my hands over his. “What do you want, James?”
“I want to take her to your place. I want you there. Every bit as much for support as for there to be complete transparency.”
My chest tightens and I try not to flinch where my hand holds him. The idea of watching them hurts. Whatever the outcome. I have to watch his ice eyes on her, I have to watch them knowing that he’s seen every inch beneath her clothes. That their skin knows each other, and I’ll have to watch them knowing that too.
“You hate the idea.” James is looking up at me from under his eyelashes.
“I hate everything about this.”
He leans forward and presses his lips whisper soft to mine before he says, “That makes two of us.”
I try and swallow the lump in my throat for the hundredth time. Each time the door opens, I hold my breath, sure that it’s going to be them walking in. I would have thought that they’d be here an hour ago but nope.
And boy have I been spiraling about it.
There’s probably a good reason—she’s a shitty mountain pass driver, she got a flat tire, she’s stress eating at the nearest Taco Bell—but none of them last very long in my brain. They wisp in and out on the breezy byproduct of the hurricane of doubt spinning inside my head.
Approximately five minutes after James thought they might be there, I was convinced they were sleeping together. I’ve spent the remaining 55 minutes deciphering whether it’s James’ past actions, my putrid self-doubt, or that I’ve cast Jenna as the vaudeville villain that make me think that.
This is what love does. It turns my brain to mush and makes my heart hammer against my bones. I spend my life suspended in this space where I’m never in my own skin, where I’m just in his. And worried about how it fits.
The door opens and my head snaps up, my heart lodges up above my lungs. I can’t catch my breath. But just normal people walk in, a blur of Patagonia hats and grubby t-shirts. I blow out a breath but it’s not a full one, my ribs don’t fully unlock. My heart sinks and starts beating again but this time irregular.
I pour beers, polish glasses, wipe down the bar, all with a smile on my face and a sinking feeling in my stomach, a slight shake to my hands. Both the anticipation and the not knowing are slowly killing me. Not knowing where they are, what they’re doing—hell, even if they’re together doing it. And maybe more importantly are they having a drink? Fighting? Fucking?
The shatter of a glass falling from my hand brings me back to earth.
“Shit.” I throw the towel I was using to polish the glass aside and start picking up the larger shards of the glass.
“Are you okay, Mina?” Candice asks as she comes to my aide, pulling the bar mats below the mess and wiping tiny splinters into a bucket. “I got this.”
“It’s my mess,” I say as I dump my glass into the same bucket.
“You’ve been off all night, we close in a half an hour.” She smiles kindly. “I don’t mind.”
“We close in half an hour?” Panic threads into my voice.
“It’s 10:30?”
While my world was spinning out of control, I didn’t notice if time was speeding up or slowing down. It just seemed like infinite minutes where James was lost along with whatever parts of me went with him. But ten freaking thirty? That’s past dinner, past drinks even, past almost everything but… He wouldn’t, would he? He was the one that said he hated this. That he loved me.
Maybe Jenna died.
That would be a decent explanation. I mean she seemed nice enough so some people probably would miss her—and I’m not wishing for her death—but that’s a totally plausible explanation. People die all the time. And I would even understand James being upset about something like that.
“Yeah, I got this.” Candice gently grabs my shoulders and shimmies me to the side so she can sweep around my feet. “Go home, Mina.”
“But I…” Can’t because if I go home, I’ll realize that James isn’t there. He isn’t anywhere, except with Jenna and that makes me equally insane and hurt.
I also can’t say those sorts of things to my employees. I mutter a thank you and grab my things. The dark of the night presses in around me even though it’s usually my favorite. The moon glow on the buildings, the twinkling of the stars above. Tonight it feels tight, too close, and an extra weight on my chest. My feet are almost too heavy to pick up.
It takes the entirety of my strength to open my front door. As I trudge through the kitchen, I hesitate at the fridge. I should be hungry—I can’t remember the last thing I ate—but I’m not. I’m not anything right now. Except exhausted. That’s what James does to me, depletes me, when he isn’t busy building me up.
I force one foot in front of the other across my living room and up the stairs to my bedroom. I collapse under the weight of my own sorrows onto the edge of my bed. My bathroom is just a few steps away, but I can’t bring myself to wash my face or brush my teeth. The effort…well, it’s just too much.
This feeling has haunted me before. It’s pinned me to my bed and drug the rest of me far deeper.
I can’t bring myself to flop backward, even that feels like a grand gesture. So I sit hunched over my knees as my heart leaks out onto my legs. I don’t cry. Cryin
g would be the sign that it’s over and I’ve accepted that. Which I haven’t.
If I’m honest, I know whatever this is, whatever it ends up being will never be over. It’ll always be a piece of me. Even if it’s a piece I have to shove into a deep dark corner and carry with me. It’ll be there. James Larrabee will be there. Forever.
Just in what form?
There’s a distant knock on my front door and it sounds almost underwater from up here. I think about not getting up, about letting whoever it is knock and knock and knock. They can call if they really need to come in.
But then I think about James and it propels me up and onto my weary feet. Back down the stairs, across my living room, and then to the front door. My heart lifts as I reach for the handle.
And sinks when I open it.
“Candice? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Are you? Okay?” She eyes me even more than she did in the bar.
“Just tired.” I shrug.
“Sorry.” She winces. “You forgot your phone behind the bar, and I figured you’d want it.”
“Oh yeah.” I grab it and with a single button press see ten missed messages from James. Everything inside me tenses up again and I can’t bring myself to unlock it and read them. Sure, they could put my thoughts at ease, but they could ruin them too. “Thanks, Candice.”
“No problem. Get some sleep, okay?”
“Yeah.” I manage a weak smile, still fixated on the screen. That I won’t open. That I have to open.
Candice could say more or absolutely nothing as I slowly shut the door, still fixated on the screen. But my door won’t shut. I push it a little harder this time and a thud and a wince barely precede a big hand wrapping around the edge and pushing it back open.
“Hi there,” James says as he pushes the door back open and steps inside. “Did you not hear me yelling at you?”
“Nah… No.”
I don’t know what to say. My body isn’t suddenly awake or alive in his presence, and I’m slowly coming out of a haze and falling into a pool of dread. What did he come here so late at night to say? What couldn’t wait?
“Mina? Are you okay?”
“I…” I don’t know how to answer.
“Did you get my texts?”
I try to swallow and can’t. Words won’t claw their way out. I just manage to shake my head.
“Well…” he says knowingly. “I’ve had a pretty shitty night, too.” He reaches around me and pulls me to his body. “I was hoping to come over here and share a beer with you. Maybe bury myself in your body?” He leans in and nips at the curve of my neck.
“You…you still want to?”
He sighs. “Is that really a question?”
“Is that really your answer?”
“Read those text messages. Each one. Tell me what you think.” He jerks his chin toward the phone in my hand.
“Tell me what you think yourself.”
He holds up a bottle of beer—another one of our hard to find favorites with a story then says, “That this is a great beer and I’ll drink it out of your naked bellybutton if you’ll let me.”
James’ arm reaches over, pinning me to the bed, his leg wraps around mine, trapping me against my mattress even though I can’t sleep. He’s beautiful against my pillow beside me, his tanned skin stark against the light sheets, his wild hair framing the face I love so dearly. Each of his deep breaths rumble in that same place that his homey, smoky voice does. His fully pouted lips crooked in their unique shape.
But tonight he made me feel wanted but he didn’t make me feel loved.
I asked him where he was. I asked him if there was still us. I asked him to use his words. And he didn’t. It almost seemed like he wouldn’t.
I find my phone amongst the covers again and reread his texts
She’s here, we should be heading over soon
Scratch that. She’s acting completely insane. I’d be embarrassed to take her anywhere right now.
I can’t take all the yelling. All she wants to do is fight with me. I’m taking a walk. Maybe we’ll be able to do dinner after.
I just needed to get away for a minute. Things are better now. We’re both way more calm.
She says I broke her heart. I’m not really sure how that happened but I think we better stay here to talk about it.
At the end of the day, I don’t want anyone hurt.
Are you there? Is this your way of running away? Again.
We passed your place on the way for a peace offering, you look busy. We’re not going to come in and bother you. Hope that’s okay?
I have not drunk this much gin since you and I went cocktail tasting, She likes gin just like you. Isn’t life funny that way?
She’s asleep and I miss you. I’m coming over.
Maybe there’s a part of me that should be reassured by his desire to walk me through their evening but I’m not. Not even remotely. Specially because of the last two texts. Is he in my bed because of gin and Jenna’s bedtime or because he wants to be?
I shove my phone away again.
Why does this have to be so hard. Why can’t I just know deep down in my bones that he loves me. That this is just something to deal with like a flat tire or a leaky roof. He’s said it. Over and over. And just a week or so ago, I counted his words as a gift. An achingly beautiful one that fused something inside of me.
Was I lying to myself? Was it action all along that I was missing?
Or is something just wrong with me?
“You’ve been quiet?” James runs a single finger down my thigh as we sip coffee at my kitchen table.
“I’m not a morning person.” I force a small smile.
“And Jenna’s here,” he adds simply.
I say nothing back. What is there to say anyway?
“I’m sorry about last night,” James tries again.
“About which part?”
“All of it.”
That’s a sucker punch to my stomach. All of it includes coming over and burying himself in my body—his words not mine. All of it includes telling me he missed me. God only knows what else all of it includes. I’d blow out a deep breath if I could squeeze one past the tightness in my chest.
“What? What did I say?” he asks with an almost-hidden edge of irritation.
“Nothing.”
“It was something. Your shoulders went halfway to your ears.” He gestures toward my tension and I try to let it melt. Try and fail.
“Did you come over last night just because Jenna passed out?”
“What?”
“Don’t do that.” I sigh and pull my knees up to my chest.
“Don’t pretend like I didn’t hear your utterly asinine question?”
“Don’t treat me so flippantly.” I shoot him a look before leaning my cheek on my knee, turning slightly away from him. “That was your text. Another one made sure to point out how drunk you were. Another one, how you wanted to make her feel better,” I say, exhausted and defeated.
“You’re twisting my words.”
“And you’re twisting my heart.”
“Come on.” He drags the words out as he raises his hand to his temple and rubs. “That’s a low blow.”
“Fine. I’m thinking of calling Tanner up, trying to find some closure, I might even head to Palm Springs, stay a night or two.” My words are droll and monotone even if it is a low blow.
“He’s a piece of shit,” James spats.
“Yeah, well so is she,” I shoot back.
“What?” His voice quiets and he sits back as if he’s been stung. “She’s never been cruel like he was.”
“You don’t have to be cruel to be a piece of shit. Cruel is easier to see, it’s easier to manage. It’s the small digs, the backhanded compliments, the non-answers that are harder. She’s the queen of those. And she wanted, well, probably wants—present tense—you to change. That’s not cruel but it certainly doesn’t make her a saint.”
He shoves back from the tabl
e, his whole body tense as he takes the first few steps toward the front door. I close my eyes and hold my knees tight. This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for. I only have myself to blame for it really—nagging and picking when I could have left the wounds he’s dealt my heart alone. It seems as if my grip on my knees is the only thing that will keep me from drowning.
“You dig too you know?” he says softly, and I turn to find him clutching the doorframe, his back to me. “It’s different but it almost hurts worse. You question me, what I say to you, how I act around you.”
“I’m trying not to, I just can’t help it,” I murmur.
“That’s what makes it worse, it’s something in you. Which means not only is the woman I love hurting but also, I can’t fix it.”
I have nothing to say as I watch him walk out the door.
I stare after James for a long time. I’m equally upset that he left and by his words. Then there’s the internal voice that says he’s right over and over and over again. The combination makes me queasy.
Why can’t things just be easy between us? Aren’t they for other people?
Then I remember back to the time when they were. That’s how they started. That’s why I fell in the first place. He was a jigsaw puzzle that I just slid into place beside. He gave me strength, he gave me purpose and hope. He gave me a home.
Then he wrecked it.
And I can’t let go so this time around, I might do the damage.
I aimlessly reach for the bowl on my table and run my fingers through the ash of the letters I wrote him back then and the one I burnt the other day. I wish I had them. I wish I could relive those hurt and hardened moments to decide if this was worth it.